When I was in college in 1978 I took a creative writing course. The final assignment was to write a short story. We had to make copies for the whole class. The class then took the stories home to read and critiqued. At everyone’s scheduled time we each had to listen to 28 people say what they thought of our stories.
I thought it was great; the story, that is. I was learning that I liked to write. I had done a couple of papers in English classes that I thought were pretty good. I remember imagining I could write a book. This short story was the premise for it. It was an epic fantasy story with a hero, a magic sword and an evil monster. I envisioned that the story could go on book after book. So, true to my vision the hero died in the end of the story after a valiant attempt to wipe the evil villain from the face of the earth. There was a brief epilogue where the hero sees that he has tried and failed to kill this creature several times before, setting the audience up for the next reincarnation of our hero and his continued attempts to cleanse the earth of a dark and terrible evilness, culminating in an eventual classic happy ending for our hero and the world!
Not to mention, several prosperous sequels would follow with lucrative writing opportunities for me! It was brilliant! It was one of those moments where my life could have blasted off in another direction.
Oh, but between me and my dreams were 27 unfavorable critiques and 27 confused readers who couldn’t understand why the main character in the story had died. My idea was way before its time. Now some other trend-breaking writers are profiting from killing off the main characters in a story.
Then there was that one guy. Number 28. He actually understood what I was doing in the story and explained it to the rest of the class. I remember watching their faces as understanding washed over some of them. But it was too late. Number 28 wasn’t enough to undo the crippling doubt, embarrassment and humiliation that had wiped out my dream of being a writer. I was young.
Over the years I have thought about writing. Every once in a while a story or poem would erupt from my soul, only to be buried under this embedded memory in my mind. It sounds like 27 versions of You could never do that. Your writing would never compare with other writers. People would laugh at you. You would fail.
You might recognize some version of those voices echoing in your mind.
Enter Facebook; a forum for expressing ourselves. Often, over the past eight Facebook years, when the urge to express myself through words would come alive in some post about some event in my life, an angel would comment that it was good or that I should write. That dream of writing began to resurface and I found myself thinking that perhaps, someday, I could actually follow that dream from my youth and write a book. And I thought about it. And thought about it. And thought about it.
Recently I have been getting braver. I bought a camper, learned how to take care of it and started traveling in it. I moved from my home in Oregon to Maui. I started a new life with new people in a new area. I learned how to paddle a canoe on the ocean.
Then one day one of those life events happened. There was a false emergency alert here in Hawaii. I did what I was told writers do. I wrote about it and posted it on Facebook. People liked, loved, shared and commented. Someone suggested it should be posted in a newspaper, and then my mom asked me if she could send it to aNewsCafe.com. Then it happened; one of those defining moments that could change the rest of my life. I didn’t listen to those 27 voices that were screaming no. I got brave. I said yes.
Mom sent it to Doni Chamberlain, who posted it. Doni encouraged me to write something else. I stayed brave. I said yes again. Doni posted it again. And now I have done it once more. It’s not a book, but I am writing! I am exploring that dream!
Really, it was so easy. The universe took this thing that was really awful and turned it into something that has connected me to the part of myself that loves to write. It hasn’t come without an epic battle with those 27 voices in my head. (Hey, there might be a story in that!)
But this is the thing: When I choose to believe that writing is part of who I am, something like my authentic self, it seems a natural part of who I was meant to be when I was born. It is not something I have to bring into this world and make happen, it is something that when I show up for it, it flows through me.
Thinking I have to make it happen feels difficult. Allowing it to happen in collaboration with something greater than me feels open and doable. I like the feeling of being lit up by this creativity moving through me like a current. All I had to do was turn the switch on. I feel alive and well. When I choose to cooperate with the universe I seem to be able to do it. The opposite of which was thinking about it. And thinking about it. And thinking about it.
This lost dream has awoken within me. Do you have one whispering (or shouting) inside you? Thinking, thinking, thinking about painting, dancing, sewing, singing, starring in a play, running a marathon, building a sailboat?
I have to say it was easier than I imagined to just say yes. It wasn’t something I had to do, it was something I had to let happen. Don’t listen to the 27 voices who tell you every reason you can’t. Listen to the one voice that really matters. The one that says yes!
